Seven of Wands Molly's Story
by Emanya
Summary: The story of Molly McMullen, as a child who will grow under the watchful gaze of the Turtles and their aging mentor, Master Splinter.


A Note: This story represents the veiw of the author, but not all veiws seen or comments made by the character reflect the writer's beliefs. The writer makes no claim to April O'Neil, the Foot Clan, Donatello, Raphael, Leonardo, the Shredder, Splinter etc. and makes only a faint fan-crazy claim to Michaelangelo for fangirl purposes. 

The introduction to this story is set in the timeframe between April's return to Eleventh and Bleeker, and the attack on Raphael on the rooftop of the Second Time Around antique shop. The rest of the story is based after the "death" of Shredder in the First Movie and a year after the discovery of the subway lair.

I'm not even going to bother working around the rest of the second movie. For all intensive purposes, Corey Feldman is still Donatello's voice, and we're using the first movie look, except for Splinter.

Goddamn it, April does NOT wear yellow jumpsuits.

Venus Not Included. 

Lindsay and Molly McMullen are unique creations, as are Peter, Kyle, John McMullen (Drunk Men), Nate, Andrew and Mark (Foot Members)

Any semblence to existing characters or persons, living, dead, or otherwise is purely coincidental. 

If you can read this, you do not need a flamingo up your shorts. 

The sound of the rain outside, rattling against the fire escape and roaring in the ear she had by the window was almost comforting to the child, her body wrapped in blankets, wracked with fevor. In the next room some sorrowful country song played on the idle radio, guitar strains striking against the other ear harshly, irritating the headache in the seven-year-old's head. 

Bawdy singing, Peter was here, and probably Kyle, John -- the man she would never call daddy -- would probably be laughing at the impromtu lewd lyrics.

The door to the apartment opening, Molly peered through her blankets to see who entered.

"I'm home, Dad. Hi Peter, hi Kyle." Lindsay sighed, rubbing one shoulder. She was still clad in the pink skirt and off-white top she had to wear when she was at work in the diner Kyle owned, the Crap Shot.

Grunts all around, and the seventeen year old girl, still rubbing her shoulder, drifted into the kitchen, where her younger sister sat shivering in blankets by the window. 

Scowling, the older girl closed the window a bit, and pulled down the blankets, looking her younger sister in the face. 

"Aww, Molly, how you feelin' Kiddo?" she asked as she put her hand to her sister's head. There was no answer from Molly, of course, but the older girl smiled, pulling a few strands of younger's fair hair out of her face. The younger girl just reached out her hands; holding her sister's hand and looking frightened a moment.

"Bad dreams again?"

A nod. 

Lindsay sighed, and stood. 

"Hey, how about some dinner, huh? Bet you must be hungry…"

The singing in the other room crescendoed sharply, punctuated by laughter from the three men as Lindsay turned on the single hanging lightbulb in the kitchen, and swept empty beer bottles away from the counter. Turning on the small radio she had bought herself to something other than country… classical. It didn't drown out the bawdy singing when she closed the door to the kitchen, at least not entirely, but it helped. 

Molly sat up suddenly, and glanced out the window, pointing out and looking up at her sister, a worried expression crossing her young face. Blonde hair whisps fell back across the red face, and her blue eyes grew wide. 

"So this is where you live, huh?" inquired a soft male voice from outside the window. 

Lindsay jumped as she turned around, grabbing the nearest handy spatula to defend herself with against… a teenage boy wearing a black doji.

Grinning, he took off the hood of his dogi, replacing the red strip of cloth that identified him as part of the Foot Clan, shaking off his black hair as he entered into the cramped kitchen. His dark brown eyes grinned cunningly from behind his friendly, though sharp, face. 

"Better than bunking in a shared house," Lindsay replied, turning back to trying to find that elusive can of chicken soup, "Andrew, hand me that chair, will you? Molly, this is my friend Andrew. He's part of that group I go to." 

"Didn't tell me you had a kid. Hello, Molly." Andrew made a sweeping bow to the young girl, who eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't. Molly's my sister. Say hi to Andrew, Molly." 

"Hi to Andrew, Molly." Molly replied, still eyeing him suspiciously. 

"Sister…? You mean the re--"

Andrew ducked a mousetrap just as the wood hit his nose. That would teach him to not pay attention; had that been the enemy, he'd look more like Michael Jackson.

"She is _not._" Lindsay growled, with a menacing fist raised at her friend. Andrew shrugged it off, nothing major. 

"Oh well… hey look there's going to be a strike tonight, trying to lure the enemy out. Master Tatsu has commanded it… everyone who's able to fight should be there."

Lindsay eyed the teenage boy a moment, then sighed. 

"Unless Master Tatsu sends a babysitter, curtesy of the Clan, I can't go," she replied, dumping the contents of a soup can into two bowls, adding water, and walking for the tiny mircowave.

"Take her with you. C'mon, Linds, I don't want you to get kicked out. You _need_ us… how else are you gonna pay for those soup cans, huh? With the spare change from your waitressing job… or maybe in the illicet feels they cop off you?" 

She froze… she hadn't told him she was a waitress during the day, and definitely had not told him about the rude men at the diner. 

"I see I've made my point. I have your doji in the truck below… Nate and Mark are waiting down there. Bring her along -- she could use the fresh air."

The microwave beeped, the singing stopped abruptly, and errupted into cruel laughter. Molly was silent to all of this, but her eyes and her face said enough.

_Don't go… stay with me. Stay home. _

Lindsay McMullen heaved a sigh, and picked up her jacket.

"Yeah… Molly could use the fresh air."

*~*

"Nate, behind you!" 

"Andrew! Watch out!" 

"Get _down_ Mark!"

"Molly! _Where the fuck is Molly?"_

"Who cares! _Get outta here_!"

"Not without my sis--" 

The building collapsed around them, leaving the four Foot Soldiers entombed within.

The Second Time Around shop, owned by one April O'Neil, was burnt to the ground. No remains were ever found in the ashes. 

*~*

The darkness wasn't a comfort on the rainy streets, not as the fire blazed only a block away, not as her sister lay dead inside the wreckage. Molly McMullen was a child, yes, and she might seem like she's "that word", but she was smart enough to know when to face reality.

She walked along the streets, her blanket up and over her shoulders, looking up at the alleyway in front of her.

The alley was lit by a single light light from a bar, advertising some kind of beer or another. The streets shone silver-red in that light and her shadow cast a desparing spot on the pavement.

She felt the sorrow well up inside of her; there was no way to go home, she didn't know the way. She didn't know how to be so… alone.

Lindsay was always there, she had a mother once, she knew, but now there was nothing. Nothing but empty beer cans and loud singing, and more nights sitting hungry and cold in the kitchen. 

There was no way she would deal with that. 

She came upon an old church, tucked away into that backstreet, and looked up at the spire that rose above. The main door into the church was massive, seemingly made from solid wood and depicting the scene of Christ's ressurection and ascention to heaven. She pushed open the door, hearing the groaning of old hinges and the fluttering of pigeons inside.

The church had been abandoned forever, it seemed. Its stained glass windows were skeletons of colorful crystaline shards, and the altar was littered with discarded candlesticks.

The benches where the faithful sat were abandoned, their cushions were torn apart by years of animals. Their woodwork was stained, chipped, and beginning to rot. The scrolling woodwork was unrecognizable in the dimness as Molly approched the altar, where long ago the figure of a god-man known as Christ had hung, but no longer presided in the abandoned place of worship. 

What was left of the windows on the church watched the girl go forward, coming to the altar. With shaking hands, she fumbled at the top, pushing aside things she didn't want to identify.

Somehow that night, she had found a candle, and a book of matches. The young fair-haired girl sat on the steps to the altar, and lit the candle, then searched for another. And another.

Fifteen candles soon illuminated the stairs, the altar by three sets of candelabrum. The shadows cast off the walls were frightening monsters, her father John was in one, laughing at her as she sunk to her knees, pulling the blanket higher to her shoulders, leaning back against the altar, her eyes closed. Tears trecked down her cheeks, washing away the grime, the soot from the fire. She had called Lindsay's name. She had screamed, and there was no answer. Lindsay had always come for her. Lindsay loved her. 

And now there was no one. There was no one to take care of her; there was no one to love her. The world was dark, and cold, and cruel. The world had taken Lindsay away, the world was laughing… and if there was one thing Lindsay would have never stood for… it was the world laughing at Molly's expense.

Molly gathered her right hand in a fist, and stood up on shaking knees, crying out in pain, in sorrow. The inhuman cries of an animal that had been mortally wounded the screams of the damned, the wail of the wronged. 

She sunk to her knees again, her hands covering her face. There couldn't be just darkness. There was never just darkness. 

There had to be hope. 

There had to be something else in the darkness.

Turning herself to the altar, Molly stood herself up, frail and clad in a rinkadink T-shirt, and wet jeans. Her ash-blonde hair was in tangles, and her blue eyes were watery. She looked up into the darkness above the altar; she had never been overly religious, there had never been time for church, but she knew some of the story. 

Someone had committed their life to saving people, to saving _everyone, _reguardless of where they came from, or what had happened to them. Someone protected those who fought for something better--for something better than they could give to those they loved. Someone had given their life. Someone had committed their heart, body, and soul for what they believed in, and they died for it.

There was comfort in that darkness above the altar, and Molly leaned her elbows against it, clearing off the bird droppings and animal bodies that littered the oak box.

Lindsay had commited herself to protecting Molly, ever since she was ten. Seven years of Lindsay's life lay in that cold, dark church. Seven years of love, of labor… of hope for something better. 

The wind blew through the skeletal windows, and eight of the candles flickered out. 

"Protect her now. Protect Lindsay; make sure she's okay, an' that she's not sad anymore," Molly whispered up to the dim area above the altar, "an' protect me, too." 

Seven candles still stood glowing, seven wands of brightness in the dim of the night, seven staves of hope.

Seven years that would not be wasted or forgotten… Molly Anne McMullen silently swore to that

*~*

The Writer: Soooo… whadaya think? If you like it, or have a suggestion where this should go, leave me a review ;) I love to hear from everyone.


End file.
